Coffee. Email. A glance at the newspaper. A headline catches my attention. Strong loonie raising alarms. The reporter talks about economics, exports and trade. The strength of the loonie in relation to our biggest trading partner, the United States. These are heady times. Concerning times. As one economist states, "We wonder if our loonie may be flying too close to the sun."
The parallels between our rising loonie and growing concern over relationships south of the border, and the rise in my anxiety as my relationship with C.C. grows, do not escape me.
A girlfriend wrote the other day to remind me that falling in love is joyful -- particularly when I've learned so much and am so much more aware and stronger than in the past (thanks CZ!).
But the voices of descent clamour for attention. They want to have their day in the sun to block the rays from warming my heart. They fear the light. They fear I may get burned.
Recently, my mother had a fall. She wasn't hurt, but she sure was scared waiting for someone to come help her off the floor of her bedroom. Her fear was real. Her arthritic wrists are too weak to help her up. Her joints too swollen by the insidious nature of her disease to be of any help in giving her a purchase to get off the floor.
A couple of days later she mentioned how she'd been so scared, fearing no one would come, that she would have to lay there all night. "Perhaps the fall was a lesson from God reminding me not to brag about how well I've been doing," she said when I went to visit her. "Just last week I was telling someone I was doing really well and now this happens."
There is no quid, pro, quo with God. The Universe only wants the best for us.
"God is more benevolent than that," I reminded her. "He wants you to do well. He wants you to dance. I believe when you tell other people how well you're doing, you inspire them to dance too."
Falling off the bed was not an act of God. It was the forgetfulness, a momentary weakness of an 85 year old woman who sat on the end of her bed and slid off the silky fabric of the duvet because her thigh muscles are not strong enough to hold her in place. I helped her place a chair at the end of the bed so that she would not forget again and sit on dangerous perches.
Falling in love is not an act of God, it is my choice. It is my choice to forget the pain of the past as I carry with me all I've learned. It is my choice to step into this moment where I am strong because I know, I am safe within me. Safe within my boundaries. Secure within my knowledge of who I am. This is a place where love is real, feelings count and being vulnerable is a decision I make to let someone into my sacred space as I move closer to theirs.
Falling in love doesn't burn. Being in love doesn't hurt.
People do that. When they are untrue. When they deceive and lie and manipulate.
Falling in love is not an invitation for the past to repeat itself. It's not a taunt at fate to come and get me, cut me down or cut me off at the knees.
Falling in love is an acknowledgement of my humanity. Of my humanness. Of my human nature, or, as Dr. James Wilder writes it is a reflection of my desire, "to be the sparkle in someones eye".
C.C. is not a man from the past. He is real. He is sincere. He is in the here and now. It's up to me to keep the then and there from the past from tainting what is real and true today.
As children, we naturally sought relationship. As an adult, I have avoided relationship, or at least, avoided being real in relationship. Not because I consciously chose to be 'unreal', but rather, because I wasn't making choices that created secure attachments. My 'love wiring' was faulty.
Fortunately, I am not hard-wired for failure. The brain is a plastic-like living organ, malleable, teachable, reprogrammable.
When I was a child, I learned a lot about love -- not all of it healthy. As an adult, I have the power to make choices that unlearn the things that hurt me. I have the power to rewire my thinking so that I can thrive in love and not just survive another love affair gone bad.
The loonie rises. It hasn't seen these exalted heights in decades. We fear its rise and talk about ways to curb its flight. In our fear of the light, we seek to fall and escape our fear of flying.
My fear rises and with it my courage. My heart beats, I fall in love and spread my wings. I learn to fly.
The sun beats down, my heart expands and with every breath, with every motion of my wings I fly closer and closer to the sweet, delectable nectar of loving another without fear of losing myself or getting burnt. I am powerful enough to control my fall, and my flight.
The question is: Are you confident in your strength to hold you up? Are you willing to spread your wings to keep from falling? Do you recognize your power to control your fall, and your flight?